


I've known hate (that's how I know I lied to you)

by GufettoGrigio



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Because Brocedes, Complicated Relationships, Lewis would like to thank Seb for bringing some of Kimi's vodka, M/M, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-24 21:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GufettoGrigio/pseuds/GufettoGrigio
Summary: He hadn't expected Nico to be there.Nico to whom Lewis hasn't spoken in months.  Who, for all his talk in the media, has been using the stairs in their apartment complex to avoid bumping into Lewis in the elevator.Now Nico is here, pretty face and battle smile on, saying ‘our scene’ like there is some world in which him and Lewis still belong together.There isn't - Lewis muses painfully - and it has nothing to do with the colour of their skin.





	I've known hate (that's how I know I lied to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: There are some racist people in this fic. Also, I am playing around with a couple of stereotypes on the British upper-class. The n-word is used once. I do not mean to offend anyone so if that’s not something you think you are comfortable reading, please change story.

The hall is noisy; people chattering, glasses clinking and a quartet of strings playing somewhere in the background. Usually Lewis is not one to mind social events but this is definitely not his usual crowd. La crème de la crème of the entrepreneurial aristocracy of England honestly does nothing for the black kid from Stevenage, World Champion or not. Some of the looks he got walking in made him feel like he belongs on the wrong side of a zoo's enclosure and that's never a feeling he appreciates. If it wasn't for the sponsors, Lewis would have gladly stayed home.

The only positive note is that at least he is not alone in his suffering. Seb had ambushed him as soon as Lewis had stepped through the doors, the Ferrari driver throwing a friendly arm around his shoulders while whispering menacingly "If you leave me alone, I swear I will put you in a wall first chance I get."

___

That's how Lewis finds himself sitting at a table with the weirdest assortment of drivers he can imagine. There's Jenson, of course, who for once seems to be shying away from all the female attention and using his charms to desperately try to get out of a lovely chat with the Marchioness of Whatever from Wherever and her beautiful daughter, who looks like she drowned in a pool of orange tan. Somehow, he is spectacularly failing and planning a retreat to the restroom.

Leclerc and Norris have formed some sort of alliance of youth and are successfully hiding in the corner, seemingly deep in a conversation so important Lewis is sure he has heard ‘_Pikachu _’ at least twice. He has no idea where Hill went. Maybe he found a way to escape off the balcony. Lewis hopes so. 

That leaves him and Seb and while Lewis is still not sure why the Ferraris are at a British sponsor dinner he is definitely not complaining. Seb came prepared: his plus one is one of Kimi's bottles of vodka cleverly disguised as Champagne and God, never has Lewis been more glad someone invented Finland.

___

When they announce the opening of the buffet, Lewis thinks he might actually be able to survive after all. A few people have approached the table, asking for autographs for their kids mostly, and some have chatted funding and sponsorships though Seb's presence has worked like a charm. People don't like to discuss the investment of their millions in front of somebody whose role is effectively to make that investment fail. Lewis has politely redirected them all to Toto, telling himself he'll buy him something strong before the end of the night. He is pretty sure Seb is doing the exact same.

“You two should go get something to eat.” Leclerc suggests, joining them back at the table. Him and Norris had been eyeing the buffet with interest for the last half-hour before Seb had shooed them away with a promise not to tell their trainers anything.

“Only if you keep our seats and our secrets too.” Lewis jokes, laughing as Seb makes heart-shaped eyes at the desserts. Lewis himself is not going to say no to a slice of chocolate cake.

Before they can actually stand up though, a white haired gentleman wanders up to their table. He is short, shorter than Norris, and fairly rounder. The frame of his glasses is a thin, silver wire that precariously balances a pair of bottle-top lenses. He looks somewhere between distinguished and ridiculous, the way old people sometimes do.

“Good evening” - Lewis greets him, still distracted by dreams of his chocolate cake.

There's no answer. Seb, whose attention too is still on the buffet, echoes Lewis' greeting.

This time, the man perks up. "Good evening, Mr Vettel. Young gentlemen." He says, nodding toward Lando and Charles. The two boys return the greeting, looking slightly confused. They are all used to the odd fan that has some issue with one or another driver. Some of them do it with malice, ignoring or staring evilly at the poor driver in question. More often, people just get super excited or overwhelmed, the Tifosi in particular often enter a weird state of adoration when they meet Seb or Charles or Kimi still and they simply forget the rest of the world exists too. Lewis finds it hilarious and doesn't mind it because come on, it's _ Ferrari _. Somehow though, he gets a feeling it's not the second case. Indeed, Lewis feels that the man's issue has nothing to do with F1 at all.

"Is there...something we can do for you?" Seb tries, likely catching up on the off vibe too.

The man smiles. "Oh, I just came over to see if you were enjoying your evening? I am one of the organizers tonight, you see…"

"Yes, thank you. It's been lovely so far. Me and Mr Hamilton were just about to try the food as well."

"Mr Hamilton?" - the man repeats, glancing sideways to Lewis, his little round eyes shining with patronizing amusement behind the lenses of his glasses. - "I suppose so…"

He turns his attention back to Seb.

"You should absolutely try our tartar, we had meat especially delivered for tonight. If you will take the suggestion of an old man, I am happy to direct you to it."

It's the tone the man says the invitation in, like Lewis isn't there, plus the way he has been singling Lewis out while refusing to address him, the way he angles his body away like even the idea of breathing in the same air as Lewis is repugnant to him. Understanding downs on Lewis, a cold, uncomfortable feeling that slithers down his spine. Yep, definitely nothing to do with F1. God, why? He had been enjoying his night too.

Seb, down-to-earth, doesn't-get-upset-about-much-outside-races, Seb doesn't get the hint.

"That would be really kind of you. Lewis?"

As if the sound of his name somehow summoned Lewis back into existence, the man turns again, pulling back slightly to put more distance between himself and Lewis. The glasses don't do much to hide his expression. The quick shift from mild inconvenience at having been reminded of Lewis' presence to outright scorn and disgust is hard to miss.

For a moment, the man glances around the table: Charles looking at Seb, Lando looking at Lewis, all of them uncomfortable and none of them getting it. _ Maybe he'll give up _ \- Lewis thinks - _ it's 2019 and they are in a public setting, surely he won't spell it out aloud? _

"Mr Vettel, I greatly respect the grace of sportsmanship, but I think we would all completely understand if you felt more comfortable at our table?" 

Yes, no. He actually did. Fuck him.

Seb blinks, confused. 

"Thank you, sir, but…"

He looks at his teammate for help, one of those ingrained habits every driver has. The man obviously misinterprets the glance.

"Of course the young gentlemen are very welcome too" - the prick hastens to add - "It would only be appropriate."

It takes the rest of the table still a good second to catch on, disbelief slowing them down. Lewis feels all at once a lot better for it; if "why wouldn't we want to be at a drivers' table?" is the first thought in their minds there is some hope after all. Then it clicks and Lewis has never seen three mouths drop to the floor that fast. It's almost comical really, the neon bright WTF?! written all over the drivers' faces. Lewis should take a picture to give Norris for one of his memes.

"I am fine here" - Leclerc says, recovering first.

"I think we all are." - Norris echoes, his face serious like it is on race days, when being 19 doesn't matter.

"I am happier here actually." - Seb quips and Lewis wants to laugh at the appalled look on that stuffy old prick's face. Like he can't comprehend why some people don't want to be rescued from the scary black person...or, you know, how not everyone is racist. There's a moment of silence, the man wondering if he should continue the battle then there's a flash in his eyes and Lewis braces himself.

The old man turns, dismissing Seb and Charles, his round glassy eyes squaring down on Lando. "And what team do you drive for again, you little whelp, that you can so easily turn down an offer from someone like me?" 

_ You fucking coward! _ \- Lewis thinks, wants to shout really - _ Fucking cunt knows how to pick his fights. _ The youngest driver with the struggling British team. It's dangerous to cause a scene now, not only because they are racing this weekend and they really don't need the crap. Lewis has no clue who this man is, maybe he is nobody, maybe he isn't. While Lewis is sure the team would back him and Lando up, McLaren could do without the pain. Lewis feels like punching the fucker.

_ Where is Toto when you need him? _ \- Lewis wonders, trying not to let the steam boil out of his ears.

"Professor!" - a very familiar voice speaks up - what an unexpected surprise!"

What an unexpected surprise indeed, Lewis thinks his anger evaporating as the bottom of his stomach freefalls somewhere at his feet.

The man turns around, judging eyes scanning the newcomer. Lewis already knows what he'll see: a pretty blond angel with wonderful blue eyes and perfect white skin. The sting of the drivers' words is still there though, the man eyeing Nico wearily.

"It should hardly be a surprise to find a person such as myself at such an event, I am a regular after all. Although, I will admit that the company this year is…"

"For sure" - Nico interrupts him smoothly- "This is definitely not _ our _ usual scene." He smiles "I am _ so _ glad I could make it tonight, I have been _ absolutely _ impressed with the organization and the _ people _ tonight. I was wondering if..."

This is the thing about Nico: he is not a bad person but he was raised in a nest of snakes and has learned the game with the best of them. It's only because Lewis knows him so well that he can see what he is actually doing. With his best princess smile plastered on his face, Nico stands between Lewis and the man, keeping his former teammate and the other drivers out of direct sight as interested little questions fall from his lips, dragging both the man and the conversation in the direction he wants and away from Lewis.

It's a courtesy Lewis wasn't expecting. From Nico as a person yes, because Nico is the one person who only ever looked at him as a friend, a lover, a driver, a rival or an enemy. Lewis just did not think he'd ever get any kindness from him anymore, no more attempts to spare his feelings when Lewis has so much already on his plate. He could have done it for Lando, of course, but Lewis...it's been three years. Lewis can't really lie to himself anymore.

___

Because Nico is Nico and he always gets what he wants, it takes him less than five minutes to drag the man fully away. Lewis breathes in and looks around the table. Lando, bless his heart, is still between anger and shock. Seb is squarely on utter disbelief. Charles somewhere in the middle, pretty brown eyes widely staring at Lewis. 

"It happens" Lewis tells him with a shrug.

"It shouldn't!" - Lando squeaks. Lewis can only agree. It shouldn't fucking happen but it does and as much as Lewis may want to strangle someone, it's not always feasible. Or conductive to a racing career.

He looks around.

Somewhere to their right, Nico is still chatting with the professor, his polite, crowd-charming smile perfectly plastered on his face. The man is going on and on, lost in his own world. Other people join them, a small circle forming around them. It gives Nico a chance to a respite. In a lapse in conversation, Nico turns away, catching their eyes and for a split second his facade falls. Gone is the smile, gone is the politely interested look and the well-groomed elegance. In their place is a set of gritted teeth, Nico's expression downright murderous.

_ He is going to blow a fuse _ \- Lewis thinks because that's an expression he knows all too well. At his side, Seb gestures for him to take a deep breath then suggestively runs his thumb across his throat, pointing at the man. 

Nico's smile suddenly has too many teeth and a dangerously sharp edge. It's just a split second and then up the mask goes again and off he is, chatting away. A perfect illusion. 

Lewis excuses himself to the bathroom.

___

In the privacy of the toilets, he splashes cold water on his face, hands shaking. It's not from the confrontation. Sure, he doesn't like it. He doesn't like being reminded that he is the only black person in the room but he can take it. He can take the hate, the judgement and, as much as it makes his blood boil, he can also bite his tongue and acknowledge that this world is rotten and a snarky comment can ruin a budding career. His fellow drivers have his back and Lewis can speak for himself on the track, that's all that matters. 

He just hadn't expected Nico to be there. Nico to whom Lewis hasn't spoken in months, who, for all his talk in the media, has been using the stairs in their apartment complex to avoid bumping into Lewis in the elevator. And now Nico is here, pretty face and battle smile on, saying _ ‘our scene’ _ like there is some world in which him and Lewis still belong together. 

There isn't - Lewis muses painfully - and it has nothing to do with the colour of their skin. For all they have said and done to each other, Lewis can't deny that Nico has never seen in him an uppity nigger trying his luck in a world he didn't belong to. Nico only ever saw _ Lewis _ and that's why his resentment burns more than any insult or snub ever could. Nico is no saint but Lewis knows he did his part in earning his poison and it's now forever corroding his soul. He won't be able to just brush it off, the meaningless words of a stuffy old ignorant man with more money than brain. Nico despises Lewis because of _ Lewis _ and that hurts because nobody knows Lewis as well as Nico does.

___

When he gets back, Nico has managed to shake himself free and is sitting down at Seb's table, the two hissing at each other in German.

Lewis cannot understand what they are saying but he knows what Nico looks like when he is ranting. Seb is listening, his expression only half-amused. He mimes something with his hands, either push them in a wall or shove them off the balcony, Lewis is not sure. Nico makes the aborted motion of banging his head on the table then reaches across from Seb to retrieve Jenson's abandoned glass.

"That has Kimi's..." - young Leclerc starts to point out.

Seb shakes his head with a grim look. "He needs it."

Nico raises the glass in a cheer, downs half of it, and off he is again.

___

In their tried and true dance of avoiding each other, Lewis waits what he deems the limit of an acceptable time before going back to the table himself. The alcohol he has already drunk now sits warm and uncomfortable at the bottom of his stomach and it does nothing for the slightly nauseous feeling that is settling at the back of his throat. He should eat and Seb has indeed gotten him a slice of that chocolate cake but Lewis finds that his appetite is gone. 

"Is he ok?" - he asks after a minute, counting on Seb's good heart not to make any comments.

The German just shrugs. "He is bitching, so I am going to assume he's all right. How are you?"

Lewis takes a bite of the cake. It's soft and sweet and maybe eating is not such a bad idea after all. "It's complicated." 

"I am sorry" - Seb says - "I honestly am, Lewis. I had never seen anything like that before. I know racism is an issue, I know it exists but I...it doesn't happen at the races, does it?" He looks like the thought makes genuinely ill. 

"Not usually" - Lewis tells him truthfully - "None of the drivers and not in the paddock. Odd questions sometimes but we do live in an odd world."

"Odd questions?"

"I got asked if I needed to open the top of my helmet to fit my hair."

Seb stares at him, waiting for the punchline. Lewis has none. "What, for real?!"

"Told them I didn't need a helmet at all because my afro would protect me. I only wear it for regulations." Seb snorts.

"Should have told them you got it modified to fit your ego. Would have been more accurate." It's a joke and Lewis is glad he can still easily take it as such.

Somewhere near the buffet, Nico has found Jenson, the two of them laughing as Jense tries to get his glass of vodka back, pouting and moaning while likely telling Nico of his earlier frightful encounter with the orange lady.

"We used to have this game" - Lewis starts, surprising even himself with the confession - "Me and Nico. A sip for every euphemism, down the glass for the n-word. We used to get pretty smashed and Keke would tell us off." 

"Never thought I'd say sorry you got drunk." - Seb jokes, topping up his glass with Kimi's vodka - "Though screw them all: you are the one getting drunk on champagne."

Cheers to that, Lewis supposes.

___

It takes two more shots and the announcement of the closing speeches for Lewis to brace himself and go look for Nico. He finds him outside, on the open balcony. 

It's a beautiful night, the sky a deep, rich black embroidered with a million stars. Nico is leaning on the railing, looking out to the sea, Jenson's glass forgotten in his hands.

"God help me, Jense" - he says without turning when he hears the slide door open - "I swear I am going to murder somebody."

"I'll help you hide the body." - Lewis answers. Oh, how he enjoys the look of surprise on Nico's face when he whips around, the all-too-real and clumsy way he fumbles with the glass, almost dropping it. There's no illusion here and Lewis basks in it.

"It's the least I can do." - he adds softly, before the peaceful spell they are under can break. Tonight, Nico is not in a fighting mood either. Lewis joins him by the railing. They just stand together for a long time, side by side, elbows almost touching as they both try to keep their eyes on the sea. It's Lewis who gives in first, sneaking a glance out of the corner of his eye. Nico is wearing only a white shirt and there are goosebumps on his arms where the sleeves are rolled up. Lewis has to fight the temptation to reach out and run his hands along Nico's skin to warm him up. He tears his eyes away but he is not fast enough: when he looks up, Nico's blue eyes are looking right back at him.

"I...I didn't think you would still be doing something like that for me" Lewis admits. Nico shrugs.

"I shouldn't have to. I may have an issue with you. Not with you being black."

"So you won't let the world have an issue with it either?"

Nico grimaces. "Polite misdirection is hardly the best way to deal with those racist pricks. I am sorry. It's not like you need saving either, it's just…"

"None of us could bloody well throw a glass at their faces." Lewis agrees.

"Fuck them. As appealing as that idea is, we deserve the alcohol more." 

Lewis finds himself laughing.

"How many then?"

Nico scrunches his nose. "I should have probably downed the bottle within the first five minutes of conversation."

Hate is a funny word, Lewis thinks. He has told Nico before that he hated him, he is pretty sure Nico said it back. Still, here they are. Reading each other's mind like they have never been apart, like they never left each other's orbit. Maybe they haven't. Because if hate is what Lewis has seen in that man's eyes when he had looked at him, then both Lewis and Nico are lying. Maybe it's time somebody admitted that.

"I'll drive you home if you end up getting pissed." Lewis offers and if the phrasing is playful, the intent isn't. 

Nico stares at him, assessing, wheels turning in his mind as he tries to read between the lines. Then his lips quirk, just slightly. 

"Going by your state, I think we'll be better off if I order us an uber"

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the kind of fic I usually write so, please let me know how I did. Constructive criticism is always welcome and so are any comments! :)  
Racism is a serious issue and should never, ever be condoned.  
I am GufettoGrigio on tumblr too.


End file.
